


having words

by athdhea



Series: Prompts and Requests [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian's dad is a jerk, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Mother Giselle is a well-intentioned jerk, OK but one of my favourite friendships in the game, Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athdhea/pseuds/athdhea
Summary: “Fancier words, same shite.” The words are all but spat out, and Dorian is overcome with the desire to have some words with the good Mother.





	having words

**Author's Note:**

> A ko-fi ficlet for a follower on tumblr.

“So, what, daddy dearest can’t handle who you’re jousting with?” In her typical unceremonious fashion, Sera plops down noisily beside him, arrows clattering in their quiver as she twists and shifts to kick off her shoes.

In spite of himself, Dorian can’t help the inelegant snort. “That’s over simplifying it a bit, but yes.” He raises a curious brow as he turns to Sera; she’s certainly not the first person he’d expected to talk to him about this. And Dorian trusts the Inquisitor to be discreet about meeting his father at Redcliffe—and certainly, he trusts the Inquisitor to be discreet about the nature of their discussion.

“Aha! I knew it.” Please with herself, Sera stretches out her legs, wiggling her toes. Dorian makes a face, uncertain if the faint smell of old  _cheese_ is coming from his companion, or from elsewhere. “Ol’ Mother Gisele was clucking all day since you went off with ‘quizzy.” Her face scrunches, nostrils flaring and mouth twisting as though she’d just bit into something rotten.

His brows jump nearly to his hairline. “I’m impressed you managed to deduce that all on your own, Sera.”

Whether the elf takes it as a veiled insult or a compliment, Dorian can’t tell. Sera continues on, folding her legs beneath her as her fingers move on to fiddle with something else. “Where does she get off, gettin’ into everyone’s private bits like that?!”

Another snort, louder, less restrained, and three different kinds of disgusted. “Now  _there’s_ an image I don’t want in my head.”

Sera pauses for a moment, before erupting in a cackle so loud, she draws the attention of nearly half the courtyard. “Hah! Maybe if she got into  _those_ private bits a little more, she wouldn’t be worryin’ about where everyone’s stickin’ theirs!”

Something tells Dorian that he should be discouraging this sort of blasphemy, but he’s also been around Sera long enough to know that there’s a little more than just blatant dislike for all things Chantry-related. “Tell me, Sera, has she been getting into  _your_ private bits?” There’s something wonderfully spiteful about this all, and Dorian finds it something of a relief.

The muscles of her face do all sorts of weird things at that, twisting with a disgust that Dorian’s never seen on her before. “ _Ewwww_ , I’m not into  _that_!”

A chuckle, “I do hope not.” The sickened snarl on Sera’s face doesn’t abate, and now Dorian’s trying very hard not to let that image invade his mind. Dorian would like to be able to sleep tonight, thank you very much. “I’m certain she hopes not, too.”

“Well, she can shove it.” Her fingers pause in their absent-minded fiddling, curling into fists. “ _You shouldn’t be saying such things_ ,” her voice becomes a little nasally, words lilting with the worst imitation of an Orlesian accent Dorian’s ever heard, “ _the Inquisition is all high and mighty, Sera_ ,” she plucks at a loose thread on her blouse, perhaps a little too angrily. “ _It has no place for someone like you.”_

Genuine surprise flashes across Dorian’s face, anger rising, unbidden in his chest. “She said  _that_?!” His voice is low, dangerous; static before lightning strikes.

“Fancier words, same shite.” The words are all but spat out, and Dorian is overcome with the desire to have some words with the good Mother. Sure, her meddling with his family affairs could have been called well-intentioned but poorly executed—but this is simply abhorrent.

“I’m going to have a word with Mother Giselle,” he says, jaw clenching.

“What for?” Sera rolls her eyes. “Ain’t gonna do shite, except get you into…more shite.”

“Sera.” All semblance of levity has faded from his expression, and Dorian turns to her with his lips set into a hard line. “What she said to you; it’s unfair. And wrong. And I will not tolerate it.”

For just the briefest moment, Sera looks surprised; eyes wide, lips parted—Dorian thinks for a moment he’s looking at the face of a much younger Sera. A Sera who’s only ever been downtrodden by the people who were supposed to be caring for her; a Sera who’s never made someone proud because there wasn’t anyone around to make proud—a Sera who’s maybe realizing for the first time that she’s more than everyone made her think she was.

“You know, you’re not so bad, Dorian.” The moment passes, the childlike look on her face returning to its default state of snark. “Your father’s just a giant wad of dickpuss who’s just wrong.”

His lips quirk, tucking that colourful terminology into the back of his mind for later use. “Quite.”


End file.
